


Where The Fuck Is Weasel?

by lefierro, RoanOaks



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 04:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lefierro/pseuds/lefierro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoanOaks/pseuds/RoanOaks
Summary: Wade goes to bar.Weasel hired another fucking bartender.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wtf am I doing with my life it is legit 3:41 in the the morning.
> 
> Shameless self promo: read my spideypool series, Princess Bride. It's only relation to Princess Brides is Peter's obsession with the movie.
> 
> Also read my merc!Peter fic, Aw, Sugar, You Make My Teeth Rot.

Wade plops down at the bar, not bothering to look up. He's too busy doing, well, nothing. He should probably look up, that's what's more convenient for the plot he thinks? The author is just pissed ao3 crashed and they have to rewrite the first part of this fucking chapter.

"What can I get you?" A voice filters in and Wade's head snaps up. That voice is most definately not Weasel's and neither is that face.

The brown eyes stare at him questioningly. Is this kid even over twenty-one? What the fuck.

"Are you even legal, kid?" Wade asks curiously. Peter scowls.

"I'm twenty-three," he huffs.

"Soft spot?"

"On my neck, makes me moan like you would not believe," Peter's response actually confuses Wade for a second, before he gets it. His mind draws a blank. Who the fuck is this kid? Where the fuck is Weasel?

"Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck is Weasel?" Wade asks, before wondering if maybe he should've flirted back.

"I'm Peter, Weasel is out." Peter turns to grab a glass, and Wade gets a nice view of that absolutely perfect ass. He turns, placing the glass in front of Wade and repeating his earlier question. "What do you want to drink?"

"You," Wade responds almost immediately. Peter gives him an unimpressed glance.

"I prefer to be eaten, actually. Or blown. Unless you want to swallow, I guess that counts as drinking,"

"Holy shit," Wade whispers, "I think I'm in love."

"I can make love," Peter comments idly, "but I doubt I'd be good love-interest material. Mine all tend to die or leave."

"That was dark," Wade comments, "what are you some emo fucking internal monolguer straight out of some shitty goth book about the dark princes or some shit?"

"The only reason why you think I'm dark is because I haven't left you in an after glow," is Peter's only response as he goes about wiping the bar. "Are you going to drink anything?"

"Gimme whatever, won't affect me anyway," Wade responds dismissively, still a little shocked by someone who would just... meet his banter like that. Peter nods and grabs a bottle at random and pours the liquid into the glass. Wade takes a sip. It's pretty good, actually.

"Wanna blowjob?" Peter asks in a deadpan. Wade spits out his drink. 

"What?" He asks rather articulately. Peter seems to realize his mistake.

"The drink," he clarifies, "You're Deadpool, right? Weasel said you liked starting shit. I wouldn't just give you a blowjob, gotta take me on a date first."

"Pft, I'm classier than that. Don't put out till the third," Wade responds. Peter shrugs.

"A shame I don't stay that long," he says airily, wiping at the bar as he continues on, "Want a blow job?" He repeats.

"Hell yeah, baby boy, let's start some shit." Wade responds. Peter just goes about making the drink and an impromptu bar fight is started.

Peter just looks like he genuinely does not give two fucks, and Wade is actually concerned about whether on not this new bartender is a stoner or some shit. Peter dodges a glass, which flies mere centimeters from his head. He hadn't even glanced up. Wade wolf whistles.

"Good reflexes," He comments. Peter smiles a little, before his face returns to an even more hardened deadpan.

"Thanks," he grumbles, and he wipes at the bar some more. Wade decides he likes this new bartender.

"I like you," Wade states, "tell Weasel I approve."

"You can do it yourself," Peter responds, and he doesn't speak to Wade for the rest of his time there. Probably because Wade's only there for a few short seconds before he leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so, Ive never written smut before?
> 
> But um, there's no real smut in this chapter so phew. Actually, there won't be real smut for a while.
> 
> There will be an extreme slow burn to this, btw. It'll consist mostly of Peter being a tease for a lot of it and Spider-Man being even more of a tease.

Peter's not there the next day. Weasel is. Wad bitches and moans, naturally. Weasel just shrugs and tells Wade that Peter liked him too.

"What? Really? Did he say something?"

"Yeah, he said 'Deadpool's hot.' Kid never says nice things about people. Or says things about people, period."

"I hope you know you've just given me so much material for me time later tonight."

"Ew, gross."

~

It takes Wade two days to find it. But there, in his wallet, is a small slip of paper with a number scrawled on it, Peter's name, and the words  _call me,_ on it. Peter's handwriting can only be described with the word spidery, and Wade spends the whole day wondering how the fuck Peter got the paper into his wallet in the first place.

The next day, Wade calls Peter. Peter answers on the first ring.

"Peter Parker," comes the bored, deadpanned drawl.

"Hey Baby Boy," Wade greets, not bothering to contain his excitement.

"Took you long enough," Peter responds. "Didn't think it'd take three days for world-renowned mercenary, Deadpool, to find a piece of paper in his wallet."

"I don't use my wallet very often," Wade defends. Which is a total lie, by the way, since he blows cash as fast as he makes it. Peter hums that sarcastic _mmhhhmmmm_ sound. "Oh Baby boy, you'll be moaning a lot more when I get my hands on you." is Wade's response.

"I'm sure I will be, but the fact of the matter is, is that I'm pretty sure you'd enjoy it if my hands were _around_ you," is Peter's response. Wade is again just a little shocked at how completely not flustered Peter remains. No one responds to him so confidently, unashamedly, or any of the above synonyms to those words. No, wait, or any of the synyoms to the above words.

"Oh baby boy, I don't think you'll be able to get your hands around me if I'm already in you," is Wade's response.

"True," Peter grants, "I guess my hands will just have to be around me, then. Unless you're kind enough to do the job for me."

"Obviously, baby boy, what kind of man do you take me for?"

"Hm, I'd call you classy or a gentlemen, but you'd have to ace the test first." is Peter's response.

"Test? What test?" Wade responds. Peter smirks and Wade can hear it in his answer.

"Do you wanna take the test?"

"Obviously, because I am classy, and a gentlemen and-" Wade doesn't even finish his sentence, because Peter lets out an obscene sound so beautiful the word moan doesn't do it justice, and it does things to Wade that he cannot describe. "What?" Wade says, voice a little high, "Is this part of the test?"

"Let's continue our earlier conversation," Peter responds, "If you're such a gentlemen, you'll understand the test soon enough. So tell me, when you're in me and your hands are around me, where do my hands go?"

"Well-"

"My hands are in your hair, fingers grabbing and tugging at the locks as I arch my back and moan in pleasure, sweat slick between us and your mouth- where is your mouth?"

Wade gets the test immediately when his body reacts in a very vertical way. He doesn't even have hair, but damn, Peter's voice alone is enough to make him willing to forget that detail.

"It's making little sucking motions on my neck, it's biting and nibbling and teasing the skin and my cheeks are flushed and my back is arched even more, head on your shoulder, eyes shut, moans coming out of me-" Peter makes another obscene noise, and again, the word moan does not do it justice. "My face is flushed, I'm begging you to go faster, faster, I'm breathing harder, brown hair messy. There's so much sweat and friction and pleasure-"

Wade makes a small whining sound because this test was absolutely unfair! Peter's voice is angelic and for it to be narrating so fucking smoothly, how was he not expected to touch? Peter grins, and Wade can hear it when he starts talking again.

"I'm begging you to touch me more and suck me there and fuck me harder and I'm moaning and groaning and pushing my body against you, every part of me is at your mercy-" Peter makes that beautiful sound again, "-hands tugging your hair in frustration as you continue with your teasing, even if you do go a little faster, even if you do touch me a little more, and you move just a little closer to that magic spot on my neck. I'm desperate and begging for more. Moans coming out of me every few seconds at the amount of pleasure I'm feeling-" Peter makes another obscene noise, and Jesus fucking Christ it does things to Wade, "-And you're working your hands faster, and their magical, but you're still so slow in me, and I'm coming before you and your hands, now free, are teasing my body, trailing your fingertips up and down in feather light touches and I'm leaning towards your hands and trying to push even more against you all at once and you're still teasing my neck, leaving marks. I'm begging you, more, more, faster, faster, harder, harder, and you finally listen-"

Wade is very close to cracking, but he must keep up appearances! He's a gentlemen, he's classy- he will touch later damn it-

"Then you finally come, and stop with my neck and we kiss lazily in the after glow, our bodies are still sweaty, but we're stuck in happy little clouds as we fall asleep against each other, bodies fitting together like a perfect little puzzle." Peter makes a small, satisfied noise that makes Wade just want to mmmmmm. Peter's voice brightens as he speaks again, "Hm, I guess you pass! You didn't touch yourself- I think- or at least you made sure I didnt know you did! You are a classy gentlemen!"

"Peter," Wade whines, "That's not fair at all. I don't think- I can stay on the phone-"

"Why not?" Peter asks, and his voice is dipped lower. "We can still talk, I won't judge- we need to set up a date, don't we? Unless you're still keeping up that three dates rule."

"I am, but I'll set up a date," Wade responds and yeah, fuck it, he'll masturbate whilst having a conversation with Peter, on the phone, sure.

"I'm just kidding, text me an adress and time, I'll be there. Have fun!" Peter responds, and hangs up.

Wade looks down at his lap.

He fucking loves Peter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha haha kill me now. Hope u liked it, comments, please!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: baby boy how tf did you get a slip of paper in my fucking wallet?**

**Baby boy: I used my freaky telekinetic abilities.**

**Chimichsngas Motherfucker: tell meeeee**

**Baby boy: I could just be really sexual over text to avoid this.**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: why did u tell me dis**

**Baby boy: because you can't catch a hint.**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: rude! I totally can.**

**Baby boy: i gtg**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: wait**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: baby boy**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: waitttt what about the datteeee**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: do I just tell you when it isssssss?**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: I'd say fuck u but I'm pretty sure we're past that stage**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: b**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: a**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: b**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: y**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: b**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: o**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: y**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: you left me on read I feel so betrayed**

**Baby boy: Go fuck yourself, or catch blue balls, but I have actual shit to do, so stop with the spam or I'm gonna block you.**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: fiiiiiiiiiiine**

* * *

Peter sighs, loudly, pocketing his phone again and turning towards the man in front of him. "Now, where was I?"

"Y-You're Spider-Man," the man whimpers, "Y-You're Spider-Man."

"Mmhm, yes, that is true, but I remember asking you specifically for information I didn't know, so I think you're going to have to tell me something else," Peter responds. He hasn't actually hurt the man, but waking up webbed to a wall with a vigilante whispering very creative threats to you is enough to break the average person.

"I swear, I don't know anything! Kingpin doesn't tell us shit! He just gives us the package and tells us where to deliver it, I swear!" The man responds, shaking with fear. Peter still doesn't understand why he's so scared. Spider-Man has never truly hurt anyone besides a choice few, and even then it was extremely restrained.

"Where did you have to deliver it? Where do you get the package? Give me all the information you got." Spider-Man responds, narrowing his eyes. His suit copies the movement and the man whimpers.

"Warehouse 3I down by the docks- please don't hurt me- all I know is that's where it's packaged! The delivery was to some chick up north, just an addict I swear! I got it at 3i-" the man breaks into sobs, and Peter slips his fingers into the man's pocket, finding his his phone and pulling it out to call the police before dropping the phone and swinging away. There was enough incriminating evidence there to get the guy behind bars.

Spider-Man goes to sit on a rooftop, his eyes scanning the nearby area before he lays down, arms and legs spread out like a starfish, sighing quietly as he looks up at the stars. They glitter and Peter wonders, distantly, if he could ever just dissappear in one of them. But he knows better, and when his eyes focus more on the dark deep in between each glittering light, he knows that's where he truly belongs.

There's the sound of the rooftop gravel crunching and some mild cursing. Peter turns his head to find Deadpool, of all people, staring at him. For a moment, Peter begins to feel fear creep up his spine, and the feeling of it consuming him and wrapping around his heart is so natural. Does Deadpool know his identity? But Deadpool is fidgeting awkwardly with three bags of tacos piled in his arms, so he decides that, no, probably not.

Peter puts his hands under his head and crosses his legs, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Yes?"

"Wanna taco?" Deadpool offers. Peter holds out a hand, and he gets an entire bag of Mexican food. Peter chuckles at that, pulling himself into a sitting position. He unwraps a taco, pulling the mask over his nose and taking a bite.

"This is pretty good, Deadpool," Peter says casually. Deadpool perks up.

"You know who I am?" Deadpool responds. Peter holds back a smirk, and smiles warmly.

"Of course." Peter stares at Deadpool, and then forms a small plan. "Peter Parker recently met you," he says off handedly.

"How do you know that?" Deadpool asks, and Peter turns his head to stare at the man.

"We're friends," he says simply, "Plus the occasional fuck. We're not very specific about it."

Deadpool actually chokes. "Wait- Spider-Man, heroest of the heroes, isn't a virgin? Such scandal!"

"I'm twenty-fucking-three," Peter snaps."Of course I'm not a virgin!"

"Same age as Petey?" Deadpool asks curiously. Peter mentally curses.

"Yeah- Met in highschool, same age, obviously." He replies. Deadpool hums, apparently okay with the answer and starts to ramble. Peter occasionally joins in, and Deadpool soon begins calling him Spider-Geek. Peter's face flushes awfully at that, despite his next words being, "I take pride in being a geek!"

Which lead to Deadpool calling him Spider-Dork, and eventually, later in the conversation, Spider-Nerd. Eventually, though, Peter leaves to go swing home.

~

Despite being a fresh outta college grad, Peter is not actually that poor. He lives in a nice apartment, and he has enough money from his job to at least get by. So, yeah, he'd say that he's got a pretty nice life. Well, nice enough, in terms of financial situations.

Peter opens his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them and rolling over to check his phone. He doesn't have work today, which is nice. Plus he slept in a little bit. However none of this seems to matter much because all he reads on the screen is,

_20 new messages._

Peter sighs, clicking the app to check who texted him. He can guess a majority is probably Deadpool.

**CatchBlueballs: Hey I need a cab**

**CatchBlueballs: wrong number whoops**

**CatchBlueballs: YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOU KNEW SPIDER-MAN**

**CatchBluebells; YOU GUYS WERE FRIENDS IN HIGH SCHOOL**

**CatchBlueballs: I AM SOOO JEALOUS**

**CatchBlueballs: ALSO YOU TOLD SPIDER-MAN ABOUT ME???**

**CatchBlueballs: I'M FLATTERED**

**CatchBlueballs: YOU KNOW SPIDER-MAN'S SRCET IDENTITY?**

**CatchBlueballs: SECRET***

**CatchBlueballs: BABY BOY WTF**

**CatchBlueballs: WHO ARE YOU**

**CatchBlueballs: YOU KNOW FUCKING SPIDER-MAN**

**CatchBlueballs: I don't have hair BTW**

**CatchBlueballs: and I'm ugly as shit**

**CatchBlueballs: are these deal breakers?**

**CatchBlueballs: r u gonna be at sister margarets tonight**

**CatchBlueballs: do u work anywhere else**

**CatchBlueballs: I'm totally not a stalker but I know everything about u because I looked u up and took ur records so I already know u do work somewhere else.**

**CatchBlueballs: is that a dealbreaker?**

**CatchBlueballs: fuuckkkkkk meeeeee**

**-CatchBlueballs renamed TotallyNotAStalker-**

**Me: none of those are dealbreakers ig**

**Me: the stalking was a bit invasive tho**

**Me: so no date for two weeks**

**TotallyNotAStalker: WHAT**

**TotallyNotAStalker: PLZ RECONSIDER**

**TotallyNotAStalker: I'm srrryyy**

**Me: it has been decided. Go fuck Spider-Man cuz u ain't fucking me.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: Wait**

**TotallyNotAStalker: Do u mean that?**

**Me: sure, I don't give a fuck. Literaly. And figuratively. None given.**

**Me: you bitch you left me on read it's been an hour**

**Me: dick move.**

**Me: fine. Be like that. I gtg anyway.**

* * *

Peter pulled himself out of bed, tossing the covers off and pulling on a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. He wanders over to his kitchen, grabbing some eggo waffles and tossing them in the toaster. He runs a hand through his hair, which never actually has any knots, but will also never be tamed.

He eats his eggos and then spends an hour in the shower. He may or may not have masturbated. Shut up. Deadpool's not the only person with a high sex drive. What, do you think getting bitten by a radioactive spider only enhances SOME things? Everything is enhanced. Everything. He's somewhat glad his dick doesn't fall out like a spider's, though.

Peter wraps a towel around his waist and then pulls on some underwear and a robe, before lounging on his couch and turning on a random channel. He yawns, deciding that he'll procrastinate on everything he has to do for the next few hours.

His phone rings about five minutes into his lazing about.

**TotallyNotAStalker: psst can I meet Spider-Man again?**

**Me: where do you wanna meet?**

**TotallyNotAStalker: Idk. R u gonna be at sister margarets 2nite?**

**Me: never use '2nite' again. I don't think I have to work at Sister Margaret's tonight. I'm just the back-up bartender, I don't actually work there part time, or full time.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: can I see u again? Not a date (sad af about that, baby boy.)**

**Me: why?**

**TotallyNotAStalker: maturbation material.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: jk**

**TotallyNotAStalker: I mean that's partly true but I also just wanna see ur pretty face again**

**Me: nah. We can call/facetime/text but I ain't leaving my couch for at least three hours, and that's only out of the bare necessity that I am in need of a grocery store visit.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: damn.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: what if I buy ur groceries?**

**Me: u sure?**

**Me: nvm**

**Me: here's my list.**

**Me: -add notes- -notes title: grocery list-**

**Me: go buy me groceries and maybe I'll give you a nice surprise.**

**TotallyNotAStalker: be there in twenty.**

**Me: shoo.**

* * *

Peter turned off his phone, tossing it to the other end of the couch and laying down, throwing a blanket over himself. Deadpool was kinda nice, in a I'm-only-friendly-for-a-fuck kind of way. Maybe he'd give Deadpool some masturbation material for real or something, since he was serious about the no sex before a date rule, and he was very serious about the no date for two weeks rule.

Or he could have Spider-Man fuck him senseless. Or get fucked senseless as Spider-Man. But he was still adamant about the date rule, so that was a no too. Peter was weird as Spider-Man, any way. At one point the mask had brought him confidence, but somewhere along the way he became a blushing fool, so maybe he should wait to get fucked as his normal self before getting fucked as Spider-Man.

After twenty minutes on the dot, there's a crashing sound behind his door, before the knob jiggles. Mild cursing folows, and since Peter's walls are mostly sound proof, the cursing must have been loud. Peter lazily rolls off the couch and doesn't even bother standing, just crawls over and unlocks it before standing up, his blanket worn like a cape and flopping back down on the couch face first.

"You know, Baby Boy, leaving your backside exposed to dear ol' me probably isn't a good idea," Deadpool says conversationally, and there's suddenly a pressure on Peter's back, and Deadpool's voice is startlingly much, much closer to his ear. Peter's breath hitches, fear clamping his stomach like a vice. "Hello-"

"Get off," Peter says forcefully, but his voice doesn't hide all the fear. Deadpool gets off immediately.

"I'll gladly get off to you," Deadpool respond cheerily, and Peter sits up, scowling.

"That's another week off. No date or fucks for three weeks. Don't ever invade my personal space again." Peter's glare leaves no room for questioning.

"Aw, baby boy, but what if I want to get up and in you, personal space be damned." Deadpool responds, but he takes a step back to show he understands. Peter relaxes, before glancing at the grocery bags by his door.

"Are you putting those away, or am I?" He asks curiously, tugging his robe closed. He's suddenly very aware of how very little he's wearing. Deadpool whistles appreciatively.

"I'll put 'em away baby boy," Deadpool responds, getting the bags and heading to the kitchen.

Peter eventually gets up and heads to the kitchen a few minutes later, and the sight of the merc's absolutely wonderful body does things to him. This is great material for later tonight.

"Deadpool," Peter begins, walking a little closer. 

"Yeah, baby boy?" Deadpool responds casually. Peter glances at the bag he's emptying and notes that it's the last one. Nothing needs to be refrigerated or frozen, either. Good, good.

"Deadpool, look at me," Peter responds. Deadpool freezes, glancing over.

"I'm a lookin' good lookin'" Deadpool responds. Peter sighs outwardly, but the praise secretly makes him happy.

"Can I come in? To your space, I mean?" Peter questions, looking away. A rare moment of vulnerability seeps into his eyes and posture, one hand going to rest on the others elbow. The blanket around his shoulder slipping ever so slightly at the movement.

"Only if you're comfortable with it," Deadpool replies evenly. Peter nods, even though he is actually very much not okay with it. But he has to be, because Deadpool is clearly here only because he really wants the sex and Peter has to give him something.

Peter tugs the blanket further onto his shoulders, walking the two steps to close the distance between them. Deadpool raises an eyebrow, something visible through his mask as he turns to face Peter, hands on the edge of the counter behind him.

Their chests touch, and Peter is almost the exact same height. Maybe an inch shorter, at the most. He carefully, hesitantly, puts his hands on Deadpool's shoulders, letting them drift down and around, feeling his red clad chest. The mass is truly all muscle, and Peter very much likes the feel of it.

Yet, Peter's uncomfortable still, just a little. Their close proximity bothers him, and he wants very desperately to take a step, or eight, away. He forces himself to push past that, and wraps his arms loosely around Deadpool's neck, pulling himself closer. His mouth goes dry. He hates this. He doesn't want to be this close to anyone he wasn't comfortable being with and didn't inately trust.

"Hello," he murmers, and Deadpools gone shock still. Peter smirks, grazing his lips against Deadpool's masked ones, and there's a sudden bump against his legs. He steps back abruptly. That was about all he could handle. "Well, have fun with that. You can use my bathroom if you really want to. Finish the groceries first?"

Peter turns and heads to the living room to lounge about the couch again.

"You little shit. You sexy little shit," Deadpool breathes. Peter winces, but pushes that back. He could deal with insults.

"Yep, that's me," Peter states. And if his voice sounds just the slightest bit strangled, and his eyes seem a little watery, no one notices.

Peter suddenly realizes how royally screwed the situation he's put himself in is, again. He's fucked. Literally.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3 crashed I think it's trying to tell me not to write half smut when I'm not in the mood. I later got in the mood

It takes thirty minutes before Deadpool walks out again. Peter is literally wearing nothing but underwear and they both freeze.

"Didn't think you'd come out so quickly," Peter comments in a deadpan as he pulls the blankets somewhat self consciously over his chest.

"I've come quicker," is Deadpool's nonchalant response.

"Well, I hope you know that with _me_ ," he emphasizes. "You'll be _begging_ to come that quickly."

Deadpool chuckles. "Oh Baby boy, I love a good tease."

"Well maybe I'll give you a free strip tease," Peter responds.

"You're already naked enough baby boy, I'm sure if I wanted to I could take you right no-"

"Get out." Peter snaps, and there's fear in his eyes. Deadpool tenses.

"What did I do?"

"Out." Peter snaps. Deadpool walks out without question.

It's only about ten minutes later that he realizes what he did. The way he'd worded that phrase had sounded like a threat.

~

Peter doesn't answer or respond to any of Deadpool's texts or calls for the majority of the next two days (Spider-Man avoids him too, but since him and Peter are friends that's a given) and Deadpool is beginning to wonder if he'd fucked it all up when his phone buzzes.

**baby boy: At Sister Margaret's.**

**Chimichangas Motherfucker: be there in 10.**

Deadpool immediately makes a beeline for the building, and when he gets there Peter is wiping down the bar top again. Weasel is there as well, also bartending. Deadpool ignores him in favor of sitting in a stool in front of Peter. Peter looks up at him.

"What can I get you?" He asks in a deadpan.

"Nothing unless you wanna get off," Wade replies, swinging his feet. Peter raises an eyebrow.

"Here I'd thought you would want me to stay on for the ride." Peter turns to grab a glass. "Blowjob?"

"Hell yeah, baby boy. Let's start some shit."

Three bar fights and a copious amount of flirting and banter later, Peter's help is no longer needed so he slides out from behind the bar and walks out the door. Deadpool walks up next to him and there's a beat of silence.

"Where are we going?" Deadpool finally asks.

"Dunno where you're going, but I'm going home," Peter responds bluntly.

"Can I come with you?"

"Sure, but I hope you know that it'll take a little more than walking into my home to get me to reach that point."

"Baby boy, the things I plan on doing with you-" Deadpool notes the way Peter's expression changes ever so slightly. "-with your consesnt, I won't need to touch you to have you reach it."

"Whoever said anything about touching?" Peter airily asks, "I've already managed to get you hot and bothered once without any touching. I'm sure that's one more than you'll ever do to me."

"Really, baby boy, is that a challenge? You mean to tell me that you haven't been thinking of me the way I've been thinking of you?"

"It is most definitely a challenge and I don't know, in what way have you been thinking of me?"

"Sexually."

Peter stops, abruptly. "Deadpool," he murmers, "Almost seventy percent of the thoughts I have of you are in an extreme, sexually graphic nature."

"Baby boy, it's nothing compared to my thoughts. I revere you! You are a beautiful, gorgeous doll! A perfect sculputure, and your ass is a blessing to this earth. I could write sonnets and plays and ballads alone on the beauty of your ass. The elegance, the perfection, the wonder of that ass. And your face. And your skin. And your eyes. And your voice..." Deadpool fades off a little, because was that a blush smattering it's way down Peter's face? Also, the discreet leg shift and the brief flash of an uncomfortable expression that's only ever paired with...

He stays quiet till they get to Peter's home, and then his usual ramble starts up again. Peter goes to toast some waffles. When he's done, he stands in his living room awkwardly. Deadpool grins. Now would be a perfect time to test his previous thought out.

"Peter," Deadpool begins, "I have a theory."

Peter's expression shifts for a moment, which makes Deadpool's train of thought stop. Shit. He said something wrong. Restart. "It's a purely innocent observation-"

Peter winces, again. Deadpool inwardly curses. He can't scare Peter off! Fine, he'll just have to be direct then. "Do you have a praise kink?"

Peter stares at him. There's no placable emotion on his face. He's just staring. He contemplates before responding, "No".

"Really?" Deadpool questions, taking a step forward. He watches to make sure Peter is okay with that, and doesn't move closer. "Your eyes are pretty," he begins. And he starts to list off any compliment or praise he can think of that's true. "Your ass is perfect. Your skin is beautiful. No, seriously baby boy, your complexion is flawless. You're like carved wax. Your hair is wonderful, adorable really. It's fluffy, I really wanna touch it. Jesus, your body! I could write sonnets on that. Your ability to match my banter and flirting is uncalled for and fucking wonderful. You are beautful, wonderful-"

Deadpool's noticing the effect. Peter's standing shock still. Not from fear, but to avoid reactions. Deadpool doesn't look away from Peter's eyes. "You are the prettiest human being I have ever had the wonderful luck to lay my fucking eyes upon."

Peter does something Deadpool's never heard or seen him do. Peter whimpers. It's a small sound, almost unnoticeable. Deadpool glances down and yep, that totally proves his theory. "Still gonna say you don't have a praise kin... oh shit, are you crying!?" Deadpool asks, panic flaring in his voice at Peter's watery eyes.

"I," Peter's voice comes out high and strained. "Need to use the bathroom."

He rushes out of the room. Deadpool wonders if he fucked up, and why the hell Peter looked on the verge of tears.

~

Deadpool's realizing he's made an absolute mistake. Because unlike himself, Peter is absolutely certain Deadpool is listening and he is not trying to be quiet. At all. Truly, the noises he's making are angelic but the reactions they are creating in Deadpool's body makes it absolutely agonizing to wait for Peter to be done.

Peters been in there for an hour and he's not even close to being done. His mind grasps for any image, any image at all. He's imagining Deadpool on him, and it's really a nice image. There's no more of the other two seared into his brain. He makes another very exaggerated moan, and to his surprise he gets on back. It's somewhat hesitant and very muffled, but it immediately adds to Peter's own little fantasy.

Peter moans again, letting himself believe it's Deadpool's hands and not his own. He gets one in return. They begin to go on like that until Peter's done. He doesn't make a big deal of it, though he knows Deadpool isn't done. He crawls over to the door, leaning his back against it.

"They're my hands," Peter says, loud enough to be heard through the door. "Not yours. They're mine."

There's another moan, a little more insistent. No words attatched. Peter smirks. "My hands, not yours. This time, my lips are around your neck. My body leaned over yours. Breath hot against your ear as I whisper filthy things."

Moan. "Your own hands don't quite know what to do, they keep searching for different parts to hold onto, and my hands, not yours, are working wonders right now."

Moan. "Magic hands, my fluffy hair rubbing a little against your chin as I work my mouth some more on your neck. My hands doing something wonderful on your hot and bothered self."

Slightly quickened moan. "Suckling and nipping and biting and jerking."

Slightly higher pitched moan. "Hands working magic, my breath hot and wet against your lips."

Loud moan. "Leaning in for a kiss and one final flick."

Moan. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"I'm gonna go,"

"Mmhmm. Take this with you." Peter makes an obscene sound.

_"Thank you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things I have planned for this...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here u go

Spider-Man is already half way through it when he realizes what's happening. It's such a startling realization, he chokes on the drink he's currently drinking. (A slushie he paid for after stopping a convenience store robbery.) He chokes and splutters, coughing up red liquid that leaves the sour taste of cherry in his mouth a little more bitter than its usual sweet one.

He's sitting on a rooftop with fucking _Daredevil_ of all people. He doesn't even remember how on earth they had met and teamed up, but it had happened. "You good, kid?"

"Yeah-" Spider-Man chokes out, cringing at the small stabs of pain in his throat as he puts a hand to his chest, feeling the somewhat quickened heartbeat. Whether or not it was actualy quickened or just natural is something Spider-Man does not know. His heartbeat is naturally quicker, but the fact that he just choked could have just made it quicker than quicker.

There's a silence as Spider-Man hesitantly goes back to his drink. After a few sips not full of sudden realizations and choking, he decides he's safe enough and sips with his normal rigor. Daredevil listens with amusement, and once he's sure the quickened heartbeat isn't going to have a heart attack, he speaks up again.

"Want to meet up here tomorrow?" Daredevil asks, and smirks a shit-eater's smirk as Spider-Man returns to choking and spluttering. Spider-Man's phone rings, but he looks irritated at its existence despite how hard he's coughing.

"I'm sorry, did you want to meet up with me again? Because I swear that's what you said, and while I'm flattered I don't really plan on making friends anymore, Mr. Daredevil, sir." He stammers out. While it isn't buried in ums and stutters, he still sounds like a giant, blushing fool. He mentally curses his stupid suit's ability to make him less sure of himself. Where was the old confidence it used to hold? His phone buzzes again. It feels strange against his leg, but he ignores it. Probably Deadpool. Again. He should try to use his phone as a vibrator, that'd amuse them both. Maybe just him, and then he could tell Deadpool about it. Who knows. As long as they aren't touching.

"No friends," Daredevil promises, but he's totally lying. "Just partners."

"Okay," Spider-Man agrees, trying very hard to clamp down his excitement because holy shit, Daredevil is so cool and he wants to hang out with him! He feels fifteen all over again. "I don't want friends." Daredevil can totally hear the lie but he dosen't mention it.

His phone buzzes again, and this time Spider-Man let's out a stream of very un-Spider-Man like curses. He fishes his phone out.

_38 New Messages._

**-TotallyNotAStalker's name changed to AnnoyingNoFuck-**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: Peter, oh my god, can I meet spider-man again?**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: ur not asleep, r u?**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: probs not, weasel says ur a nocturnal fuck**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: night owl parker**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: plz Peter can I meet the spooder-man**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: Peeeeeetttteeeeeeerrrrr**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: PEEEEETTTTEEEEEEEER**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: P**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: E**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: T**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: E**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: R**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: P**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: A**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: R**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: K**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: E**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: R**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: !!**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: my lovely sex god**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: plz**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: plz I will start a cult around ur ass if u respond**

**AnnnoyingNoFuck: talk dirty 2 mE**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: wait, no don't I don't want to have a boner if I meet spider-man**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: Peeeeettteeer**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: baby boohoo**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: b**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: a**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: b**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: y**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: b**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: o**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: y**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: noTice meeeeeeeeeee**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: I'm sitting in my apartment in a depression**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: plz let me meet my literal favorite hero spider-man.**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: heeelllooo?**

**Me: this is spider-man**

**Me: I stole peter's phone**

**Me: y do u spam**

**Me: he doesn't like spam**

**Me: BTW I steal Peters phone a lot**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: wait rlly? Peter doesn't like spam? Also u steal Peters phone? U naughty child.**

**Me: I am not a child**

**Me: yes to both**

**Me: one sec lemme see where I am**

* * *

"Mr. Daredevil, can Deadpool meet us up here?" Peter questions. Daredevil raises an eyebrow that Peter can't see.

"Sure."

* * *

**Me: on top of Ben and Jerry's on fiftieth**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: I'll be there**

**Me: daredevil is here to. He's awesome. U r pretty cool 2.**

**Me: ttyl.**

* * *

Daredevil and Spider-Man wait patiently, Spider-Man sipping again rather hesitantly on his slurpee. He finally begins to feel comfortable, only for his spidey sense to zing much too slowly and end up with Deadpool smashing into his back. He gets into another choking fit, and Daredevil, the basted son, laughs.

"You are-" Spider-Man chokes, putting a hand over his chest, "-a bastard child!"

"Oh, really? I'm not the one choking on air," Daredevil responds, and then in a quieter but still easy to hear undertone: "Again."

"Asshole!" Spider-Man responds indignantly. "I regret the day I adopted you!"

"I'm actually your adopted son?"

"Yes, and mine to!" Deadpool joins in.

There's a beat of silence, then warm laughter.

~

Peter stumbles into an alley, giggling a little. Deadpool and Daredevil had been fun to hang out with, and they had left a few minutes prior. He slips on his civvy clothes, and begins the walk home. His phone buzzes some more.

**AnnoyingNoFuck: spider-man?**

**Me: no, Peter. I had to go chase the fucker down for my phone back again. My smol civvy legs did not need the work out, nor take kindly to it.**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: haha**

**Me: asshole**

**Me: my poor legs**

**Me: I might have to wait another week to let them heal**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: no plz. Im sry. Lemme come over I'll make u food and kiss them better.**

**Me: bring chinese**

**AnnoyingNoFuck: sir yes sir**

* * *

 

Peter walks into his apartment, flopping onto the couch with a sigh. Underneath his skin, he can feel the bruises that haven't formed yet already being healed, and he yawns. He'd sleep, but Deadpool had promised him chinese, so he sits up with a dramatic groan and turns on the tv. Princess Bride plays. Huh.

"The author totally chose that as a refferenece to their other fic series!" Deadpool exclaims as he seems to suddenly materialize out of nowhere. Peter jumps, startled, fear snatching at his mind as he whips around. His frame is racked with barely contained shaking as he struggles to catch his breath.

"What?" He asks, and his voice won't stop shaking. "I'm not scared, I swear, just startled."

"I'm sorry baby boy," Deadpool responds, and he honestly sounds sorry.

"Don't be, it's fine," Peter responds, once his heart goes back to normal, and isn't attempting suicide via jumping out of its place in his chest through either his throat or just busting out through skin and bone. "Where's my chinese?"

"Right here," Deadpool chirps, holding up the bags. Peter makes grabby hands.

They eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?


	6. The Incidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named because why the fuck not. This take space over the next week, btw.
> 
> I hope you know I don't have an actual plot this is just random shenanigans strewn together in a weird time line.

Peter stares at the mess in his apartment. He stares longer. He turns, grabs his keys, and storms out. Slamming the door so hard the entire building shakes.

 _"Weasel, you absolute fucker!"_ he seethes, storming into the bar. Weasel jumps, and looks rightfully afraid of the glare Peter is sending his way.

"Wait," he tries, "I'll pay you for it-"

Peter storms behind the bar, grabs Weasel by the ear, and pulls him into a back room. Some screaming, some crashing, and then some silence ensue. When they walk out, Weasel looks thoroughly terrified, and Peter looks deadly and calm. He storms out. Deadpool was not there to witness the event.

Over the course of three days, these events are repeated until finally...

 _"Weasel I swear to whatever the fuck may be holy that you will regret ever being born into your miserable existence if this happens again!"_ Peter shrieks, and his eyes are filled with rage as he storms behind the bar. "You owe me so fucking much."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry-"

"You're fixing all of it! You're restocking my fridge! Your burning all the pillows and buying me new ones and I swear, Weasel, if all my books aren't replaced with new copies I will positively deck you." Peter growls, snatching seven of the top shelf liquor bottles. Weasel whines, and Peter flips him off before sitting himself down in a bar stool and promptly chugging an entire bottle of what may or may not be Weasel's most expensive vodka.

"Woah baby boy-" Deadpool begins, but Peter flips him off.

"Shut it," He grumbles, and he's still entirely too sober.

"How are you still standing?" Weasel asks. Peter flips him off too.

"Living with Spider-Man means being able to hold a very large amount of liquor for a very long time." Peter grumbles, burying his head in his arms and sighing loudly.

"Sounds like your days been rough," Weasel comments. Peter levels him with a glare.

"No thanks to your ungrateful ass. Seriously, me and Spider-Man aren't going to eat for the next three weeks!" Peter responds, throwing his hands in a large gesture to emphasize. Weasel winces.

"I didn't mean-"

"Fuck you," Peter snaps, "I give you the key to our apartment for the express reason that you were homeless for a week and I needed a job, and this is the thanks I get? You fucked our pillows! You burned two of my books! My books, Weasel! And then you ate and stole all of our food! We're poor children! Why would you do this? I was fired yesterday! Spider-Man is forever unemployed!" Peter rants, before grumbling incoherently for a minute. Then, in complete and honest dismay: "Who fucks their host's pillows??"

Weasel looks around awkwardly. "Um, sorry?"

"Die." Peter sighs, leaning back and hugging the seven bottles to his chest as he walks out the door.

The incident is known as the What The Fucking Pillow, Weasel, incident and is never mentioned again.

Peter sighs, pushing himself through the bar doors. Weasel looks at him strangely, and half the bar stares.

"What?" Peter snaps tiredly, "You think I like this? I was nearly mugged! Three times!"

He's wearing fishnets and black shorts, a white button up that's a little see through, and back coattails. His shoes are pretty and polished and red. He's wearing red lipstick. His make up is perfect, his hair is combed back and it's only a little messy. He looks like a really classy stripper.

"Did you at least like the job?" Weasel asks conversationally as Peter goes behind the bar to attend to his bartending duties.

"Yeah, it was fun," Peter admits, serving a drink. He makes a blow job and starts a bar fight just for the hell of it. Weasel grumbles disapprovingly, but he looks really happy when the one guy comes out victorious.

"You know..." Weasel begins, "You never come to work dressed like that when Wade's in town."

"Why do you think I asked you to tell me when he is?" Peter responds bluntly. Weasel smirks.

"Weeeeell..." he draws out. Peter gives him a look of horror before Deadpool walks through the door.

They stare at each other. Peter panics and does the first thing that comes to mind.

"Like what you see? I'd let you touch but you still have another two weeks before you can score a date." He says it in a deadpan, because that's his default function. Deadpool sighs, and asks for a drink.

The usual flirtatious banter ensues. Peter may or may not have tripped and pinched Weasel  _accidentally_ multiple times.

The incident is known as the Do Not Question Peter's Line Of Work incident, and is never mentioned again. Nor repeated for fear of Weasel's safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Actual plot development! Gasp! Could it be?

Peter sighs, going behind the bar yet again. He'd been working at Sister Margeret's more often, which was rather strange if he was being honest, as it wasn't a real job. Weasel just paid to come and help on occasion. Well, that had been the plan. It appeared "on occasion" had turned into  _whenever was possible._ Which, honestly, irked Peter to a somewhat large extent since he'd been fired from the Daily Bugle recently and had been trying to find a job. Since he didn't actually have any photography credentials except  _I have some pictures of Spider-Man that aren't even that rare to find anymore._ So he'd settled with finding a different kind of job, which he had admittedly no credentials for either, but typically he didn't need those to prove how good he was at it.

The problem was it needed to be a very specific kind of job, otherwise he wouldn't be able to work and he had yet to find such a place. Peter guessed that either Weasel had been trying to help Peter by providing him with a job or, Weasel had noticed that a lot of his customers liked Peter and was totally taking advantage of it. Peter would like to believe the former, but he knew in his heart it was likely the latter.

The trouble with this is that it meant he saw Deadpool a lot more often than he had intended. He had one and a half weeks left before he would allow a date, and he had expected little contact with the merc, at least in his civvy self. His superhero self might have been different, but it seemed to be the opposite. His civvy self appeared to have many more interactions with Deadpool whilst his superhero self saw him once every three or four days and really those interactions were either really friendly or consisted of Spider-Man being a complete tease.

So, Peter found himself with a problem he had no real way to fix. He was unemployed and far to picky to find a job quickly, he needed money and he really wasn't even getting enough money from Weasel to do much of anything (He needed to pay rent. He hadn't even gotten his last check when he was fired so he has no money and he's two weeks late. His landlord is so beyond ready to kick him out.). He needed to pay his rent, but he'd learned the hard way that it was always infinitely better to worry about his nutrition intake over his rent, mostly because being Spider-Man burned through all the calories he ate in a day, in about an hour. So if he didn't eat, he'd starve in maybe a week.

Peter is running out of places to try and score a job at. He's running out of options, and the mercenary he was hoping to avoid for three weeks is there to see him almost every other day. He doesn't know what to do.

"I kinda wanna bite to eat," Deadpool comments.

"Bite me first, I love it when people leave marks." Peter responded. It was a half lie, if he was being honest. Having sex was hard enough because he actually couldn't, and bites would definitely send him reeling into a panic attack unless he intimately trusted the person.

"I'd rather eat you first," Deadpool responds. Peter raises an eyebrow as he wipes the bar down.

"Don't think you can do that without taking a bite."

"You've obviously never seen how great my tongue can work."

It was always like this. Promises of sex and how great various parts of them were. Deadpool would occasionally walk Peter home, or occasionally they'd meet up at Peter's apartment for a movie night or game night or a fast food take out night. Peter, dare he say it, almost considered the merc a friend.

And that was bad. That was horrendously awful and the thought sent a bag of stones slamming into his stomach causing it to sink. He could not be making friends. Deadpool was not a friend. Besides, the feelings were probably wholly one sided considering Deadpool only hung around him for the sex he'd sort of promised (and was now obliged to give.) So even if the merc did seem friendly, and maybe even a little vested in his safety and well-being, it'd probably go away in a few weeks when he inevitably had to get over his irrational fear of touch and fuck/get fucked by the merc.

So if Peter loses his temper, so what? If the merc wanted sex, he'd just come back the next day. If he wanted a friend, well this would discourage it and then the merc would come back just for the sex anyway, right? Peter wondered how he'd feel if the merc never came back.

"Stop!" He half yells, stopping the merc from his ramble about how Peter should eat a little more and learn self defense, because he didn't live in the greatest of places. Confusion seeped into the merc's body language.

"Stop what, baby boy?" The merc asks curiously.

"Stop this!" Peter yells, throwing his hands around in a haphazard gesture that didn't really convey any of the things he wanted it to convey. He forces himself to stop with the yelling. "Stop with all of this- this- friendliness! I'm just a fuck, and I don't need you to pretend like I mean anything more than that. See me in a week and a half, we can go on a date, fuck, and that'll be it. But you don't need to pretend like we're friends beforehand because I know it doesn't matter to you and it certainly doesn't matter to me. I'm not looking for a friend, and if you are, you won't find it in me. I. Am. Just. A. Fuck."

Peter glares, and then he turns and walks into his building, slamming the door behind him. The truth of his words ring around in his ears and he feels an unceremonious dump of emotions flood his brain. He sighs and ignores the slight hitch in his breath.

He's just a fuck. There. He'd admitted it. Now the merc wouldn't do this whole friend spewl. He couldn't have friends, because he got every one close to him killed; and he couldn't be more than a fuck because he really wasn't worth anything more. The thought pains him, and he remembers a time when he'd never think of anything like that but that time is gone and the memories dissolve into the harsher ones that had given him these bitter truths. He couldn't have friends because he'd get them dead, and he was nothing more than a fuck. He was a lone thing in a big wide planet and he could not afford friends. He wasn't really anything better than a fuck. Actually, he wasn't even just a fuck, because he couldn't get close to people, literally, so he was really much less than that.

Deadpool had even seemed nice. He'd been friendly, and kind, and he'd taken time to learn Peter's rather unreasonable boundaries and he would have honestly been a great friend. And wasn't that awful? The only person who he'd finally let himself think of like that in so long was the one person who would probably never think of him like that. He couldn't have friends, and even if he could, Deadpool didn't think of him as one and he knew it. He'd always known he was just a fuck to the merc so why? _Why did it hurt so much?_

Nothing. He was nothing. He was just a fuck and he fucked up at being a fuck and that was just the truth of it. His memories of a harsher time flood his brain, and he's crying before he knows it.

~

Deadpool stands there, staring at the door Peter had just slammed.

 _"Stop with all of this- this- friendliness! I'm just a fuck, and I don't need you to pretend like I mean anything more than that. See me in a week and a half, we can go on a date, fuck, and that'll be it. But you don't need to pretend like we're friends beforehand because I know it doesn't matter to you and it certainly doesn't matter to me. I'm not looking for a friend, and if you are, you won't find it in me. I. Am. Just. A. Fuck_."

He's stunned to say the least. Not particularly because of the outburst, he'd kind of expected one. He was an expert at reading people and he'd known Peter was eventually going to burst about something. He honestly thought it'd be about how Peter couldn't have sex with Wade. (Wade knew, of course, since Peter couldn't even be a foot away from him without getting this uncomfortable look on this face. Peter tended to push that down, though, Wade knew, so he tried to respect that boundary.) He'd been pretty okay with it. The banter and flirting was nice, but consent was always key and he figured Peter couldn't really give it to him considering how he couldn't actually, you know, get close enough to him to do the deed.

So when he started saying he didn't need Wade to pretend to be his friend, and how he was just a fuck, it had stunned him. Mostly because he really only thought that for, like, a day. He'd actually grown fond of the man, and he did consider them friends.

Further more, Peter told him he didn't want to be friends. Which honestly just depressed Wade because he liked Peter as a friend and so of course the only human being who'd actually been able to hang out with him wouldn't think of him as a friend. Or at all, apparently, since Peter was just there for the attraction. He thinks. Peter never stated what he thought of Wade, just that he knew that Wade thought of him as nothing more than a fuck.

Which offended and honestly infuriated the merc, by the way. He hated when people shoved words in his mouth. He talked enough, so where did people get off deciding they knew about what he was saying or what he was thinking? Nevermind that, Peter's honestly self depreciating nature kind of stunned Wade. Peter was an honestly awesome human being. In Wade's eyes, the man was damn near perfect. The fact that Peter just thought of himself as nothing more than a fuck was concerning. (When Wade thought a little deeper he did realize Peter had made his opinion on that matter very clear when he stated that he was just a fuck, and didn't add  _to you._ To the end of it.)

Wade knew Peter had always had an undertone of problems of some form. Peter's blatant fear of being within even a one foot radius of people was testemant to that. There were all sorts of tells, really. Peter had boundaries for everything, he got afraid if you worded things wrong around him. If you entered his house without permission he would get scared. The fact of the matter was, was that something had happened to the other man and that something had deeply traumatized him. Wade could guess what it was, and just the thought made his blood boil, but he'd never really gotten the impression that Peter hated himself.

He knew Peter blamed himself for a lot of things, and he also knew that Spider-Man might actually be his only living support system (the superhero was quite frankly awful at being a friend, Wade was quick to realize. From what he gatehred, Spider-Man was an unemployed twenty-four year old who leeched off Peter, was never home because he thought being Spider-Man was more important, and was really only home with Peter for what Peter called himself to be an 'occasional fuck.' Really, the superhero was less favored by Wade. He'd kind of only been talking to the red and blue claded hero in an effort to figure out if Peter was doing okay.), but he'd never thought Peter hated himself. He exuded a sort of confidence that really only added points against that theory, so Wade had thought Peter had some form of a good mental image about himself.

Although, now that Wade thought about it, Peter's language and humor kind of only really said that he knew he was physically attractive, and he never really complimented himself. Plus he had a praise kink. Well, the last one wasn't actually a good observation but it still contributed something.

Wade curses. Fuck. What the hell was he going to do now? He was invested in Peter's health, and he thought of the man as a friend, so what was he going to do?

Gasp! Dare he... dare he try to help the man?

Honestly, this was an awful idea given that he himself had issues of his own, but he'd try it. He'd always been a sucker for pain and a glutten for punishment anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get a lot slower paced for now on, btw.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finger guns.
> 
> Eeeeey?
> 
> HEY PLZ READ THIS NOTE.
> 
> So for my other fic I'm writing Peter and Wade dearest are meeting Cable and there's a smol problem. I have no idea at all about Cable's personality.
> 
> Hallppoo.

Spider-Man huffs, inspecting the area around him whilst wiping his gloves on the side of his suit. He didn't know what he had touched on that window, but it was wet in a disgusting way.

The apartment itself is somewhat trashed, and its got suspicious stains everywhere. If he really squints he can see traces of brain matter and chunks of skull on the walls, but he quickly skips over that part. He wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to do this, and the only excuse his brain could make up to cover up the real reason he was here for himself was  _masturbation material?_ Which wasn't really a good reason if he was being honest.

He knows Deadpool isn't home, because he'd spent an hour making sure before hand. He didn't know when the man would be back, though, so he should probably make his search a little quick. He makes his way over to the hallway, trying to avoid moving things around too much.

He felt wrong doing this, because he really hated intruding in people's privacy, but he was just so irritated with the merc he couldn't find a reason to care for too long. He doesn't move much, just peeks into the rooms and looks around. A purely innocent search that had absolutely nothing to do with Spider-Man and Peter both avoiding Deadpool for a full three days and now feeling oddly deprived of the merc. With a mouth that he absolutely did not imagine around his dick multiple times.

He should probably be getting to the job soon to see if it was fit for him, but he suddenly hears the distinctive sound of the front door opening. He freezes, glancing for a window and finding with a sinking dread that there are no windows. Who doesn't put windows in the bedroom?

The doorknob turns, and Spider-Man panics.

~

Spider-Man stays perfectly still, and tries very hard not to stare when he hears the distinctive moans coming from the merc. He glances over, and once he's absolutely sure the merc is facing away from where he is on the cieling, he crawls over to the door.

Which slams shut. He bites his lip, glancing behind him at the merc who definitely looks otherwise occupied. If he's quick, he can drop down, open the door, and bolt. After a small mental countdown, he drops down.

He opens the door quickly and quietly, and runs out the moment he can. The doorknob is rather loud, and he knows he has a second to get out of Deadpool's line of sight. He sprints, and he shoes himself out the thankfully still open front door, and then out the apartment complex.

Once he's safely on a roof a block away, he stands, keeled over with his hands on his knees. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He seethes. "That was the shittiest idea I have ever had and I will never do that again!" He declares.

"Better fucking not." Comes a voice behind him. He decides then and there that he is an utter fool for believing that the mercenary wouldn't know he was in there. Instead of confronting the merc, however, he just jumps off the roof and swings the fuck away.

Scrambling in through his window he slams it shut and quickly changes, hiding the suit in some place somewhere and breathing a sigh of relief. He goes to his closet to get some stuff to show off in for his job, when a sudden knock on his front door makes him freeze in place.

Walking as calmly as possible over, he opens the door. "Yeah?" He asks in a deadpan.

"Where the fuck is he?" Deadpool responds. Peter raises an eyebrow.

"Who?" Peter asks, freaking out because oh fuck he hadn't put the box away and Deadpool absolutely cannot see it.

"Let me in," Deadpool demands. Peter begins to truly panic, which must be evident in his expression because the merc is quick to add a "Please?"

"Sure," Peter replies, shoving the panic down as he steps aside and rushes to his bedroom like the rooms on fire to shove the box deep into his closet. He then realizes that there is so much stuff on his bed that he absolutely does not want Deadpool to see, so he slams the door in a panic and begins to throw everything in his closet.

"Baby boy?" Deadpool calls through the door, knocking. "You're not hiding Spider-Man in there, are you?"

"No!" Peter calls back, but he knows the moment it leaves his throat that he does not sound at all convincing. "I just have a lot of things I don't want you to see and oh- You're opening the door."

Deadpool looks around, and he pauses at the sight of the bed. Peter looks away awkwardly, because he really didn't need this. There's a long, very awkward silence. "Well," Peter begins, "This has been fun, but unless you think Spider-Man is hiding in the closet then you should probably look somewhere-  _don't open the closet!_ " Peter's voice comes out much too close to his alter and he doesn't have enough time to ward off Deadpool. The closet door opens. Peter's panic reaches its height.

"Get out!" He shrieks, and there are tears mixed with overwhelming fear and his hands shake. "Get out, get out, get out-"

Deadpool is just standing there in shock and when he finally snaps out of it, Peter is finding it very hard to breathe. Wade would love to leave, but he can't leave Peter in this state. "Peter, you need to breathe. I won't leave until you're breathing."

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, because his breath is kind of not cooperating. He counts sheep, trying to breathe in every five sheep and out every five more. When he's finally got a rhythm and his breathing is normal he peeks a glance at Deadpool, who's still just standing there and looking inside the closet.

"Don't look in my closet anymore," Peter pleads, and he looks around because his confidence is gone and he kind of just wants to cry now.

Deadpool closes the door and looks around the room. It takes all of five seconds for Peter to note the Spider-Man suit on the floor. It was torn from his last battle with a villain. He walks over to pick it up, folding it neatly and laying it on the bed as he pulls the other stuff from the bed and shoves it under. His hands still shake.

"Does he just leave all his destroyed suits on the floor for you to pick up?" Deadpool questions.

"Yeah," Peter responds, "Usually he picks it up, but he kind of came and left in a hurry that night. City on fire and all that."

Peter is trying not to think of how utterly terrified he is. His room was sacred, it was his space and he felt suddenly very claustrophobic to have someone else in it. Plus, he wasn't supposed to be friendly with Deadpool, but it was really hard not to be. "Can you please leave?"

"No."

Peter's heart drops like a stone. His hands never stopped shaking. "At least get out of my room?" His voice gets questioning towards the end. Deadpool walks out. He takes it all back. He liked friendly Deadpool better. He respected the boundaries, he left when he asked, but now this was all horrible and awful and why did he do this? He feels sick as he closes the door and leans against it, sliding to the floor with a dull thump.

What the hell was happening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments please?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeey

After a full three minutes of just sitting there in a panic, Peter calms down. Only to suddenly become completely irritated with the current situation, because he had a fucking audition to go to. He'd been so panicked to change out of his suit and into a normal outfit he'd forgotten all about it and now he only had twenty minutes to get there, stretch, change, and perform. Not in that specific order, but the fact remained.

And it was about five minutes into him grabbing the outfit he wanted to wear that he realized Deadpool was still in his home, which sends him into another panicked frenzy because his job was something he liked to keep as top secret as possible, thank you very much. It was as sacred as his room and considering Deadpool had already ruined that to an extent, he didn't think the merc (with a mouth he again, absolutely did not imagine around his dick multiple times.) really had any business ruining more of his sacred things.

So he throws a robe over his outfit and takes a deep breath before walking into the living room. Deadpool's lounging on his couch. "Get out," Peter demands.

"No," Deadpool responds. Peter sighs. He doesn't have time for this. Turning back to his room, he changes completely, throws on sweats and a sweater over it, and locks the bedroom door when he leaves. Then he grabs his backpack, which has some other supplies, and walks over to his front door.

"Where are you going?" Deadpool asks. Peter shoots a glare at him.

"Job," he snaps, and walks out.

~

Peter walks into his home utterly and completely exhausted. "Fucking stupid awful job," he grumbles, "You know what I need? A shower. And maybe a wet dream, but I can't control that." He sighs, walking to his bedroom door immediately.

He moves to turn the knob, open it, and walk through the doorway. He turns the knob, it doesn't open, and he smacks his forehead against the door. "Ow!" He yelps, backing up to rub his forehead as he curses up a storm.

"Baby boy?" Comes Deadpool's voice. Peter freezes, fear coursing through his system like a flood.

"Get out," he hisses. "Before you even say no, I am going to be very blunt. If you don't leave, I'll leave. I'll move out, go homeless, whatever works. As long as I'm out and my space isn't being _invaded_."

"Okay," Deadpool's voice sounds like he's surrendering. Peter breathes out a sigh of relief. "On one condition."

Peter's breath is sucked right back in. "What?"

"Gimme some material!" Deadpool whines, playful edge back. Peter feels himself relax at the switch.

"Fine," he responds, "Gimme a sec."

He unlocks his room, strips, grabs a change of clothes, and walks out. Deadpool jumps back like he's been shocked, and Peter gives him an unimpressed look.

"This enough?"

"Yeah, uh huh, thank you, goodbye."

Peter sighs. He heads to his bathroom at much the same time Deadpool hurries out the door.

■■■■♧ (Smutty smut, if u wish to skip, just go the next ~)

_Peter grips the sheets, arching his back as a trail of hot kisses goes from his collar bone to the bottom of his ribs. Gasps and moans leaving him as he feels pleasure course through his body, hands wrapped around his dick._

_His pupils blown and his hair mussed. So overstimulated he can feel tears form in the corner of his eyes as he tries to focus on one thing. He moans again, arching his back at one particular wrist flick, and suddenly there's a mouth wrapped around his neck, leaving small marks. Body over him._

_Teeth tugging at his earlobe as the hand pumps, pleasure-_

_~_

Peter wakes up with only one thought.  _FUCK!_ He knew he wanted a wet dream, but he hadn't been serious. Rolling out of bed, he stumbles to the bathroom. It'd be easier to clean up there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeey


	10. NOT AN UPDATE AND I'M SORRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT AN UPDATE AND I'M SORRY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT AN UPDATE AND I'M SORRY

Roan Oaks here.

 

First of all, in case I haven't made it clear: NOT AN UPDATE AND I'M SORRY.

I'm putting this fic, and my other one, Needed In Twos on hold.

NOT ABANDONING. I REPEAT. NOT ABANDONING.

If anyone comments saying this I will actually call them out on the next chap. I stg.

Here are the reasons why this fic is being put on hold (different from NiT):

First of all, the plot is taking a waaaaaay different path then planned. Like, it has veered so off course only a rewrite would make it go back. Because of this, I have begun to dislike the fic. I will not be rewriting it because rewrites are somewhat diliked and I've already rewritten my other fic, Aw, Sugar, You Make My Teeth Rot. However, I do need time to rethik almost EVERYTHING.

Originally, this was supposed to be Peter and Wade helping Peter through his trama and befriending him and then eventually and having sec. Which is exactly how it's going however, it's become more fast paced then I wanted and the events I had planned aren't working well in the plot. Furthermore, things like Peter's job, which I had planned, are kind of cringey and I need to change it.

Because of this, there will be minor rewrites in the other chapters. Nothing major nor plot affecting, you really won't need to reread it, just different wording, etc.

Also I have like three more fics on the way.

This fic will be back around the same time NiT is, so a week to a month is about the time frame.

I'm truly sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't comment I'm personally offended.


End file.
